The Dreamers

Apparently, credentials are necessary to host a panel on the American dream. “Just so you know, I have a dog in the fight,” The New Yorker’s Leo Carey, a native-born Englishman, said, as he flashed his naturalization certificate. Seated in the Angel Orensanz Foundation, a nineteenth-century synagogue turned event space, the crowd was patient, even somewhat reverent. Jeffrey Eugenides, the author of “Middlesex” and “The Virgin Suicides,” was running late, stuck in the Lincoln Tunnel. “To the American dream,” he apologized as he arrived, “from the American nightmare.” Jhumpa Lahiri, the author of “Interpreter of Maladies” and “The Namesake,” and T. Coraghessan Boyle, the prolific California-based novelist and short-story writer, had already begun. There was little the three writers had in common, which perhaps made the point about the topic at hand.

Discussion turned to names. Lahiri admitted that she hates her name “at least five minutes every day.” Boyle replied, “See, I was the complete opposite. I was born Thomas John Boyle, Jr. I needed a fancier name.” It was agreed that materialism played a role in the American dream. “An immigrant wants to be respected, legitimate,” Lahiri said. “Often it’s with material possessions, a house, or a car.” “I want your Frank Lloyd Wright house,” Eugenides said to Boyle. All acknowledged the feeling of being an outsider. “I grew up in the Hudson Valley,” Boyle said. “When I hike up a mountain in California, I don’t see a lush forest. I see a Yucca plant.”

As the evening drew to a close, the floor was opened to questions. “I’m surprised you haven’t talked about fame,” a young man in a pink shirt said. The writers were asked if they ever considered it. “If you’re looking for fame,” Eugenides said, “writing is the wrong profession.”